


All You Wanted

by compo67



Series: Chicago Verse [53]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Affection, Angst, Bittersweet, Brotherly Affection, Chick-Flick Moments, Childhood, Dean-Centric, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Series, References to All Hell Breaks Loose, References to Canon, References to swan song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2619773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been to a wedding before. They went to a hunters' wedding when they were fourteen and ten. </p><p>They're going to a neighbor's wedding now that they're fifty-three and forty-nine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All You Wanted

They've been to a wedding together before. 

Before, Sam didn't know Dean's measurements. He didn't know that it only takes the slightest accent of green in his garments to bring out the brilliance of Dean's eyes. 

A crisp white shirt, pressed and ironed is smoothed out over broad shoulders. Sam fixes the collar. Every button is done with care. He brushes a wrinkle out, uncaring if his hands linger more than is necessary. Touch. Contact. 

He slips silver cuff links in. Takes care of them. Stands back. Ten minutes later and Dean is ready. There's a fuss with his tie, but Sam steps in and fixes it. 

"There," he murmurs, hands on Dean's shoulders. "You're done."

In their mirror, Dean looks himself over. He doesn't say anything about Sam's hands or their continued placement. Dark gray pants, white shirt, a dark green and black vest, and a silver tie are the components to Dean's outfit for this wedding. His shoes were polished last night with a kit Sam hadn't realized he had kept. Quietly, by himself, Dean shined and polished both their shoes, using a rag with worn in initials. 

By lamplight, their shoes shone from Dean's work.

By daylight, Dean shines from Sam's vista.

Fifty-three and fourteen are not as different as they seem. Dean turns around, the glint of grief in his eyes fading with speed acquired over a lifetime of repression. A crooked smile is offered; Sam makes no comment with words or his body. And certainly no judgment. That's not his place. His place is to stand still as Dean dresses him.

Sam's pants are one shade darker than Dean's. His shirt is white, but his vest is mostly black with a few green accents. Green. Sam wonders what it means. 

Thick, freckled fingers work on the buttons to his shirt. 

The tie is next. Dean drapes the tie around Sam's neck. The ties they use for disguises are purposefully cheap; they're a poly blend. Their personal ties are silk. Sam's is gold. Silk makes for a well balanced tie that knots and drapes perfectly. Only a minute passes before Dean is done.

Memories drift by and all around them. Dean had his tie done for him the last time. He hated it. It was done too tight, too stiff. 

A piece of Sam's hair is tucked behind his ear for him, by a hand that lingers longer than necessary. 

Green eyes focus anywhere but at Sam's eyes. That would be too much. 

He was a boy.

A little boy with a sawed off and a pocket knife. 

Dean licks his thumb and rubs over Sam's sideburns. Sam sighs, half in protest and half in comfort. With his palm, Dean pushes at Sam's chin. Stay still. 

The words out of phantasmic memories are a potent mixture of lies and whispers and pernicious truths.

What was the worst thing about Mary's death?

The smell.

Charred. 

Roasted.

Sam places his hands over Dean's, who presses his thumbs into Sam's dimples. 

Splintering past the memories, words spoken out loud cease the trembling in freckles hands. 

He was a boy.

That boy is now a man.

"All you wanted, I could be." The words rumble out of Sam, uninhibited. Everything Dean wanted, Sam can be. He can be his family. His partner. The Bonnie to his Clyde. All of it, all at once. No questions. No limitations. No holding back. 

He wouldn't change one damn thing about his brother. 

He wouldn't change one damn thing about his partner.

How could the world want him to change? 

Fuck the world.

"I'm still here, Dee." 

They've been to a wedding before. They went to a hunters' wedding when they were fourteen and ten. 

They're going to a neighbor's wedding now that they're fifty-three and forty-nine.

It's Dean who closes the space between them this time. He embraces Sam. Cheek to cheek. A breath is drawn in; let go. 

Dean's fingers splay over the middle of Sam's back, over the fabric of his vest, pressing down. Making sure. Touching what is real. Holding on.

It's the world that needed to change; not them.

"You're the pain in my ass," Dean murmurs. 

"...Learned from the best."

"Sammy."

"Hmm?"

"Me too."

"Yeah?"

"I'm still here."

Touch. Contact. Kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you got the little references to those episodes. 
> 
> I was in the mood for angst. XD 
> 
> Oh, boys. 
> 
> Weaved in "iris" and "I'm still here" into this fic. <3
> 
> Sleep now.


End file.
